


Words Left Unspoken

by groundyonly



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundyonly/pseuds/groundyonly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a lot to be said in subtext. A glimpse into the brief reunion of Red and Lizzie. One-shot. Please leave feedback, I would so appreciate it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Left Unspoken

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It was the shock of finally laying eyes on a living and breathing, if extremely weary, Raymond Reddington that made her say it that way. And when he paused, then ignored the question, she let her mind run loose with all the things she had been thinking since he had disappeared, leaving her only able to articulate a gruff, perhaps harsh, greeting.

Raymond Reddington had been missing for more than three weeks. He’d been whisked away in a rogue ambulance and had the microchip in his neck forcibly removed right before her eyes. Then he was taken to some cold, out-of-the-way location, and tortured. All because he didn’t want Anslo Garrick to kill her. He had knowingly, willingly, put up his life in exchange for hers. 

And then he had vanished, leaving only Anslo’s corpse, a pool of his own blood, and countless questions behind. He had phoned Liz only once, immediately after his departure—to tell her that he would always be there for her. Why, was a question she could still not answer. For the following three weeks, she had been interrogated, followed, suspected of collusion… then yesterday, he had again telephoned her out of the blue, but refused to tell her anything of what was going on—he only wanted to talk about the Good Samaritan killer. 

He _only_ wanted to talk about the Good Samaritan killer. _If you are in need, I will be there._ The words he had spoken when he vanished—seemingly a lifetime ago—echoed in her brain. She had had no idea where he was. She had spent every unfocused moment wondering if he was safe, if he was injured, if he was grieving, if he was alone. What had Garrick done to him in that warehouse? She knew he would never tell her. Someone had sold him out, and unless he found out who it was while he was in Garrick’s clutches, he wouldn’t have any idea who he could trust. _Does Red ever really trust anyone?_ she found herself thinking.

He asked her how she’d done on the case now, and she marveled at his calm. He didn’t want to feel; she could tell by how he avoided looking at her for long. He had come to her, perhaps not consciously, because he needed to trust someone, and he knew he could trust her. She didn’t know how he knew that, but they both knew he was right. And as much as it bothered her that he wouldn’t tell her _how_ he knew, she was somehow comforted by it—and grateful, in a way, that he did.

“I’m proud of you,” Red said in a quiet voice. 

The words jolted her momentarily from her inner thoughts. She focused on his face again. His eyes were softer than she remembered, reflecting what she now realized was a genuine affection. But there was something else, too: a deep, deep hurt that as their chat continued he tried to mask with matter-of-factness. Someone had betrayed him, and taken away people dear to him. Someone he may have wanted to trust had led to this. He was wounded. He was _so_ wounded. And yet he wouldn’t want to hear what was in her heart now, she knew, even though he needed so badly to hear it.

She teared up in spite of herself. She had promised she would never feel anything but contempt and a grudging respect of his abilities for this long-time criminal. And then he had done the unimaginable: he had sacrificed himself for her. He had proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that there was at least one person more important to him than himself.

And that person was her.

She wanted to tell him— what? She want to tell him _what?_ She didn’t know how to put into words all the things that she had felt over the past three weeks. _Hope. Fear. Gratitude._ All the things she had screamed at him in her head. _Why me? Where are you? Why don’t you tell me you’re safe?_ All the prayers she had said. _Please, Lord, please, Lord, let him be safe._ What would any of it mean to him, Raymond Reddington, the internationally-wanted traitor to his country?

The man who had saved her life. Or who was willing to die trying.

“Well,” she said finally, quietly, her eyes shining. “Welcome back.”

She could tell by the small smile Red offered her in return that he knew she meant it. Maybe, just maybe, he would get some sleep tonight.


End file.
